


Hotline Fortress

by TheHyperWriter



Series: Hyper's Random Team Fortress Fics (ALL OF THEM) [2]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hotline Miami Fusion, Blood and Gore, ORGAN RIPPING HAVE FUN, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:21:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27628790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHyperWriter/pseuds/TheHyperWriter
Summary: Your address is in the mask, The target is a briefcase. Discretion is necessary. Leave target at point T-32.Failure is not an option.We are watching you.
Series: Hyper's Random Team Fortress Fics (ALL OF THEM) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2020090
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	Hotline Fortress

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this awhile ago to practice writing gore. I may write a second chapter if I deem it good enough. 
> 
> Inspired by GermanPeter's Hotline Fortress fan game and (of course) Hotline Miami and Hotline Miami 2.

“ _ YESTERDAY AFTERNOON, 2 INDVIDUALS WEARING ANIMAL MASKS STORMED THE YAKUZA’S NEW MEXICO HEADQUARTERS, KILLING 20 MEN AND FATALLY INJURING MANY MORE. REPORTS SHOW _ _ — _ _.” _

Jeremy yawned and changed the channel. He sat slumped on his dorm room couch, drinking energy soda (Bonk! Atomic Punch, his favourite) and wonderin’ why the Hell so many nutjobs in rubber masks were running around Teufort slaughtering members of various worldwide criminal organisations. They appeared to be the same people too; first was a crazy guy with dual SMGs wearing an owl mask, mowed down 2 dozen men in one go, then came the duo on the news today, one wearing a bear mask and the other wearing one with the likeness of a grey wolf. They had come off and on the news ever since the owl-mask guy appeared. Jeremy was pretty certain they were all nuts. 

He finished his soda and chucked the can aside, before picking up the baseball bat at his feet and fiddling with it. He flicked through commercial after commercial and getting more bored with each one. Why didn’t TV have anything fun anymore? Usually he’d go for the Saturday morning cartoons for some of that good ol’ nostalgia... but it wasn’t Saturday, it was Thursday. And he didn’t have any homework to do because he’d flung all that out of his window into the trash compactor outside. 

He was about to flick to another channel when he heard his phone ring. Bouncing off the couch and up on his feet, he headed over and pressed play on his answering machine. The bland automatic voice came muffled slightly through the speaker:

_ “You have one new message:” _

_ “Hey, this is ‘Max’ from the pizza parlor. Your order has been dropped off at your place. There’s a list of everything you purchased. Please read it carefully. Thanks.” _

The beep and the telltale click of the receiver being put down signaled the end of the call.

Well, Jeremy reasoned that pizza could make everything better. He opened his apartment’s front door, expecting to find a box of pizza at the doorstep. But only a large brown package greeted him. Curious, he picked it up and brought it back inside. Grabbing a penknife, he sawed into the soft cardboard and was met with the strangest thing he’d ever seen: a rubber rabbit mask, and an an ominous note:

_ “Your address is in the mask, The target is a briefcase. Discretion is necessary. Leave target at point T-32. Failure is not an option. We are watching you.”  _

After reading, Jeremy took a step back, not really feeling his legs. Why this out of the blue? What did he have that required him to be watched? What was he going to collect? All these questions ran through his mind as he hurried to put on his pants and reach for his coat. If these people had the ability to keep tabs on him, they didn’t sound like people he should mess with. 

Might as well go with it, right? It was only collecting a briefcase. Nothing more, nothing less. 

* * *

Jeremy stared at the building he had parked his car in front of. This was the place. He glanced at the rabbit mask one more time before slipping it over his face. He grabbed his baseball bat, which he hoped would provide a little comfort, and stepped out of his car. 

He tried the building’s front door. Locked. He could hear talking from behind it in what sounded like Russian. He knocked, expecting someone to open the door but was greeted with a spray of bullets through the wood, which narrowly missed his body by inches. 

“Holy crap!” He cried, reeling from the close call.

The people behind the door didn’t seem so nice. He pulled a can of Bonk! from his bag and took a swig. Feeling the sugar make his heart race and his mind buzz, he reasoned that there was only one other way to get that door down. 

He wound up and slammed into the door, sufficiently tearing it off of it’s hinges and knocking over an unfortunate white-suited man and trapping him under the fallen door. 

Jeremy, his mind a blur from adrenaline, swung his bat into the man’s face without thinking. He barely heard the sickening crack of bones and his victim begging him to stop in Russian, then English, his speech becoming more garbled as his head was smashed into a bloody red pulp of bone shards, brain matter and the remains of teeth and jelly from crushed eyeballs. Once Jeremy heard no more screaming, he jumped up and raced down the hallway in front of him, his eyes searching for a briefcase under his mask. It was too late to stop now; and he was  _ on a roll! _

More men, also in white suits, charged at him one by one. Jeremy leaped at the next one that came at him, aiming his bat for his head. His blow hit true and slammed the man against a nearby wall. Jeremy kept hitting. He didn’t know where he was aiming at this point. He could hear the same snap of bones clearer now, and the same sound of wood against flesh. But his heart raced fast in his ears and he didn’t stop swinging until he came to his senses for a moment and noticed the man, who was now nothing but a red, quivering mess of broken bones and smashed cranial nerves on the floor, had dropped his assault rifle. 

Chucking his bat aside, he picked up the heavy firearm just as another white-suit appeared from around the corner toting a similar gun. At this rate, it was only who could shoot faster. 

And before his opponent could fire, Jeremy pulled the trigger and filled the man with lead. The rapid sputtering bangs of gunfire made his ears ring. But through the high-pitched ring in his ears that came after the aftermath of the gun firing, he could hear footsteps and cries in Russian. There were more coming and Jeremy knew he was ready. 

As he was met with white-suited man after white-suited man, they all met a similar end — at the barrel of his gun, completely riddled with bullets beyond recognition. 

Jeremy’s mind was blank as he did this, but there was something there. A little niggling voice that told him he found this slaughter satisfying. He liked it. Seeing them all fall to a spray of bullets put a small smile on his face. For all but a moment, his mission to get the briefcase was forgotten in lieu of a very dark part of his mind telling him to kill, and kill some more. Soon, when he inevitably ran out of bullets, he was caving heads in with the butt of his rifle, using the empty chunk of metal like his baseball bat. 

Blood was everywhere: on the walls, on the floor, all over his arms and mask. There was some staining his shirt too. 

Then, after some time, he finally found it. 

He dashed, dripping with the blood of the fallen, into the final room he hadn’t ploughed through yet. There was a man there, this time in green. And he was holding a black briefcase. 

Jeremy snapped out of his violence-fueled haze for a moment to acknowledge the man in the room, who looked terrified to see a crazed young man in a rabbit mask burst into the room toting an empty gun like a bat and absolutely drenched in blood. 

Jeremy managed to utter a strangled, “Hey, what’s up,” before pulling back his arm and flinging the empty rifle in his hands right at the man’s face. The weight of the gun and the force of the throw made his neck snap, the crack which Jeremy heard quite audibly throughout the small room. 

The briefcase clattered to the floor. Mission complete. He strolled to the corpse and picked up the briefcase with blood-covered hands, before turning around and leaving. On his way back out, Jeremy felt his head clear a little. The adrenaline faded slightly and the ecstasy began to leave his body, leaving behind a cold numbness. He saw the carnage he caused, the bodies of the men he killed lying dead in pools of bloody pieces of their own skulls, or slumped against scarlet-splattered walls with their ribcages torn open by bullets. 

On his way to the door, he picked up his fallen baseball bat, the blood on his fingers staining the wood. The walk to the car felt like a thousand years. Every step felt like lead. But when he finally sat down at the wheel, the realization of what he had just done came crashing down on him. When he had managed to toss the briefcase, his bat and his stolen gun into the seat next to him, he pulled off his mask and hurled the contents of his stomach out of the window onto the pavement below. 

He froze for a second, before his mind came back to reality. Did he just kill at least a dozen people? Bile burned in his throat, as if reminding him of his vile actions. What would his Ma think of him? He wasn’t a homicidal maniac! He wasn’t like that! He wound up his car window and drove away as fast as he could, feeling regret burning in his chest. 

* * *

Point T-32 was a huge dumpster in a discreet alleyway. It had taken Jeremy until nightfall to find it. First, he had stopped off at a gas station and snuck  _ Mission Impossible _ -style into the bathrooms there to clean up before he went off to search for T-32. 

He checked his back in the alley as night fell. In Teufort, you couldn’t be too careful when out alone on the streets. Opening up the trash-dumping bin that was T-32, he flung the briefcase inside, leaving it among the decomposing waste inside. 

It was finally over. 

Now on his way home, he still felt sick to his stomach. Glancing at his fingers gripping the wheel in the dark, he could still see the dried blood that he couldn’t wash off under his nails. A grim reminder of the sin he committed. Flashes of the grisly scene he left behind at that building filled his head. This wasn’t normal.

Was it?

A familiar voice in his head from the depths of his mind piped up. It posed a question he didn’t want to answer:

_ Do you like hurting other people? _

He shook his head. No. But he knew he was lying to himself. That odd feeling of joy he felt when smashing those thugs’ heads in would prove him otherwise.

He stopped his car at the side of the road and rested his head on the wheel.

“Oh God… what crap have I gotten myself into…?”

* * *

_ “Hi. Thank you for signing up for Teufort Dating Services. She’s waiting for you at the club at downtown sq 206 street. Remember to wear something nice, and have fun!” _

There was a resounding click as the call ended. 

Jeremy glanced at the television. It was on the news again. This time, the reports were talking about him:

_ “A NEW MASKED KILLER WAS SPOTTED THURSDAY MORNING. HE HAS BRUTALLY SLAUGHTERED 36 MEMBERS OF THE RUSSIAN MAFIA, LEAVING NO ONE ALIVE. COULD THERE BE A REASON BEHIND THESE STRANGE HOMICIDES? MORE AT 11.” _

It shook him to know that he was going out again to commit more murders. There would probably be news reports all over the place about him. He shuddered as he made his way to his car, bat, rabbit mask and a now-loaded assault rifle in his hands. He had to go out and buy boxes of bullets just for this. He didn’t like it that whoever was making him do this was watching him. As long as he knew they were, he’d have to keep killing. He couldn’t risk anything happening to him.

To make himself feel a little better, he put in his favorite Tom Jones CD into his radio and drowned out his troubles for a bit. He should just get it over and done with so he could return home and sleep. 

He sped off into the night, mild dread settling in the pit of his stomach. 

For some reason, the club Jeremy was supposed to be at seemed relatively deserted. Usually there would be people going out for a good time. But strangely, there was no one around. The only vehicles on the street were 2 vans, one of which appeared to be a beat-up camper van. 

He sauntered up to the doors of the club, expecting to see a bouncer. But to his surprise, the bouncer — or what was left of him, lay on the pavement stone cold dead. His abdomen had been crudely torn open and his guts were ripped out of his body and scattered around his corpse like he had been eaten alive and the predator had only taken the juiciest bits of him. Bits of intestine and stomach lay at Jeremy’s feet. The large man’s head was blasted apart by bullets and his throat was slit. It looked like the work of a savage animal — something that wasn’t human. 

Jeremy stepped over the mutilated corpse of the bouncer and, readying his rifle, inched through the club’s shattered glass doors into the dark bowels of the club. Someone had come here before him and started work already? That’s a shame. 

Wait. Why was he thinking that way? 

Bodies of countless men, thankfully not in white suits, littered the floor, some had their bodies torn to shreds with bullet holes, a lot had their innards ripped out with their throats slit while the rest had their heads fully crushed like they had been under a hydraulic press. Jeremy stared down the grisly scene. The way the people before him killed was almost like they were enjoying and relishing in the process. It was so over the top and unnecessary that he suspected they were as sadistic as he was becoming. 

As he went deeper inside, he could hear gunshots and screams. Whoever was here was giving these men a very hard time. He broke into a run, hoping to get a chance to kill a few for himself before the others stole them all.

He swiftly reached the main room: the dance floor, and the scene that met his eyes was an absolute bloodbath. 2 men, both wearing animal masks, were slaughtering people left and right. Jeremy recognized them as the ones who had appeared on the news before him: the bear and the wolf. The Wolf was obviously the one who tore out people’s intestines, which was quite fitting for the animal he embodied. In fact, he was busy with one right now. Jeremy witnessed the taller, lupine-masked figure kick down a man in a black suit far larger than him, pull out a syringe and stab it into his neck. Whatever was in the syringe made the man crumple to the floor.

The Wolf unsheathed a large saw from his belt and sliced into the unconscious man’s stomach. He did it with extreme precision, almost surgical in the way he guided the saw’s blade. What he did next made bile leap up in Jeremy’s throat: the Wolf reached into the large slit he had made, ripped it open further with his bare hands and began tearing out organs one by one. By now, the man he was brutally dismembering was waking up, and was screaming in horror at what he woke up to. Despite obviously hearing his screams, the Wolf didn’t stop. Out came a length of intestine, then came a spleen, a few ribs, a pancreas… then finally, the Wolf held up the saw in his hands to the man’s throat, and just as he drew the blade across the man’s neck, he yanked out his still-pulsating heart. 

The Wolf without a second thought or hesitation, crushed the quivering heart in his hands. He stood up swiftly and pulled out a revolver to join his partner, a giant man wearing a bear mask in the process of shooting down a group of people, whom the Wolf proceeded to gut in a very similar fashion to what he did earlier, his bare hands getting covered with blood and other bodily fluids. 

Jeremy couldn’t help but let out a stunned; “What… what the Hell...?” when he was suddenly yanked off the floor by the back of his shirt to be put on a low-hanging balcony right above his head. Surprised, he reached for his gun, only to have it knocked out of his hands. 

The tall, lanky man who had pulled him up was wearing an owl mask, and was staring at him in what appeared to be confusion. It was hard to tell through the mask. Jeremy recognized him as the owl-masked man from the news who had first started off the killings. 

“What the bloody…? What’s a little ankle biter like you doin’ here?” The Owl said partially to himself. His accent was Australian.

“Why’d ya pull me up here?! I gotta kill those guys!” Jeremy cried over the gunfire.

“Ah. I knew it. You’re definitely the one they sent, eh? What sorta sick bastard sends a kid to kill the Italian mafia…?” 

“The heck you talking about?” Jeremy shouted, “You mean these guys are the freakin’ Italian mafia?! Well that explains everything!” 

“Yeah, mate. Certainly does.”

“Well, then lemme down there! I wanna get to it!” 

“You’re goin’ to kill the buggers. You’re goin’ to help us.” The Owl had remained quite calm throughout the whole ordeal and had not raised his voice much at all.

“Help  _ you?!  _ Why should I do dat when your friends down there are  _ already doing the job that I’m supposed to be doing?” _ Jeremy didn’t know why he was acting so indignant  _ — _ over killing people, no less. 

“Nah. There are more of those blokes on the way. You’ll get your chance.” The Owl raised the scope of a sniper rifle to his mask, managing to look through it though his view was restricted by the mask, “Now, hush for a bit, mate. You’ll scare the prey.” 

“What _ — _ ?”  Jeremy opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by the rifle going off twice. Downstairs, two more men fell to the ground with holes right between their eyes. 

He heard the Owl chuckle and mutter something to himself before looking through his scope again.

Deciding to not disturb him, Jeremy got up and looked around. The balcony they were on was less of a balcony and more like a whole second level. And in the shadows, slumped over chairs and tables and Lying in pools of blood on the floor, were the corpses of more suited men. They were all covered in bullet holes. 

The Owl must have noticed him looking, because he heard him speak up from his corner on the balcony, 

“Got up here and got rid of the blokes before they could get me mates.” He laughed, reaching under his mask to scratch an itch, “From what I know, these bastards are gettin’ reinforcements in soon so… be ready for ‘em, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah. Fine!” Jeremy folded his arms, “How do I know whether I can trust you?”

“You’ve been gettin’ those phone calls too, I bet.” The Owl’s voice grew sinister, “Sent you to kill people who could’ve killed you?”

Jeremy was silent. So he wasn’t the only one getting weird phone calls. That was a relief. 

“What do you think happens if you ignore the calls?” He asked out of genuine curiosity for the matter. 

Owl didn’t reply, only got up and slung his rifle on his back in order to have free hands for a pair of submachine guns.

“Oh, I know what happens when you do that.” He said, reloading the SMGs, “They  _ — _ whoever’s sendin’ those bloody phone calls, anyway  _ — _ threaten the ones you love. They sent bogans to hurt me Sheila and tried to destroy me camper van.” 

“Sheila?” 

Owl laughed, “It’s what we Aussies call women. In this case it’s me girlfriend.” 

Downstairs, the shooting and screaming had stopped, leaving behind a disjointed, peaceful silence. A voice laced with a thick German accent shouted up to the balcony, 

“Hello? Are you alright up there,  _ Herr _ Mundy?”

The Owl, whom now Jeremy knew was named Mundy, peered over the balcony at his colleagues,

“Yeah, mate. Got the little ankle-biter who was going to go for this blasted mission up here in the first place. You comin’ up here, doc?”

“Why, yes! Of course!” 

There was a pause, then the Wolf’s masked head popped up from over the balcony ledge. He gave a polite nod to Jeremy and Mundy as he hoisted himself up over the balcony to stand beside the lanky, owl-masked Australian. He walked over to Jeremy,

“Hello,  _ mein Junge _ . My name is Doctor Ludwig.  _ Lass uns Freunde sein! _ ” The doctor held out a bloody, bile-covered hand expectantly, as if asking Jeremy to shake it. 

Jeremy awkwardly shook the German’s hand, wincing under his mask as blood and gastric juices came off onto his hand. This well-mannered man was the insane, intestine-ripping psychopath from earlier? Looks were certainly deceiving. 

The giant man in a bear mask climbed over the balcony, apparently tall enough to heave himself over from the first floor. He towered over everyone present. With a man of that height and size, Jeremy wondered why the people they were murdering didn’t just run away. 

“Hello, little man.” The man said, having to kneel down to even reach Jeremy’s eye level, “I am Misha.” His accent was Russian. 

Jeremy hurriedly introduced himself, ears pricking up when he heard footsteps from somewhere. 

“I think there are more coming.” He said, grabbing his assault rifle off the floor, “I can hear them.”

“Yeah. I hear ‘em too.” Mundy said, “The buggers are on the first floor. Some of ‘em may be coming up here too.” 

“Well, let’s be there to meet them,  _ ja? _ ” Ludwig chirped excitedly as he pulled out a revolver, “Ooh, this is fun! I cannot wait!” The tone in which he spoke gave Jeremy the image of a manic smile. 

Misha only scowled and cracked his knuckles, glaring down the locked double doors in front of them that led out to the rest of the club’s second floor. 

“They are up here.” He said, “Misha will stay here and deal with tiny baby men. Doktor and team go down and kill baby men there.” 

“That’s not gonna work, mate. We need your muscle down there.” Mundy said, a touch of worry in his voice, “You’re going to get killed! It’s suicide!” 

“Then little rabbit man stay with me. You go down with Doktor.” 

“You mean I’m up here with you?” Jeremy said to the giant Russian as the other two leapt over the balcony to guard the floor below, “What’d ya do, big guy?”

“Wait.” Misha held up a hand to silence him, “Quiet. They are here.” 

The doors in front of them fell off their hinges and men in black suits burst in, immediately rushing at the two with guns out.

Jeremy fired straight into them, felling a couple and filling their faces with lead. Misha, being only armed with a shotgun that looked too small for his big hands, didn’t use his shotgun much at all. He grabbed men one by one and casually snapped their necks with his bare hands. 

It took them almost no time at all to clear out the second floor. The other two downstairs had also finished just as quickly. All four met up on the ground floor, knowing their mission was done.

“We gotta leave. Now.” Mundy said, looking around warily, “The cops are coming any moment. Swear I heard their sirens comin’ down the street.”

“Then  _ raus _ ! Let’s hurry up!” Ludwig was already halfway out of the door. 

Jeremy felt that disgustingly euphoric feeling again as he ran out of the building after them.


End file.
